


Dr Howard Moon, Marriage Guidance Counsellor Extraordinaire

by A_Little_Boosh_Maid



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best Friends, Canon with a twist, First Meetings, Friendship/Love, Howard has gone more than a bit wrong, M/M, Noodle Incident Un-Noodled, Pre-Canon, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, canon-typical crimes against women played for laughs, howince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27568702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid/pseuds/A_Little_Boosh_Maid
Summary: Howard Moon embarks on a career as a marriage guidance counsellor, but is thrown for a loop by his very first clients, when the wife proves both alluring and confusing. Meanwhile, Howard's own marriage comes into question.
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir, Vince Noir/Saboo (Mighty Boosh)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

Howard sat at his brand new desk, and carefully adjusted his name plate into a more prominent position. It read, in block capitals: DR HOWARD MOON, and then in smaller block capitals beneath it, MARRIAGE GUIDANCE COUNSELLOR. It mirrored the writing on the pane of glass inserted into the wooden door in front of him.

Deep down, Howard feared that he might not be a real doctor, although he'd done a ten-week course at Hoxton Polytechnic, and the certificate they'd given him looked very impressive framed on the wall above him. The course had been for personal interest, but then Great-Great Aunt Edith had died, and left him enough money to rent an office and hire a secretary, and before he knew it, he was a marriage guidance counsellor. Sometimes he worried it had all happened a little too quickly and easily.

"Please send in the first clients for the day, Mrs Gideon", Howard said into the intercom.

"You mean the first clients ever?", said his secretary waspishly.

Howard had secretly hoped for a secretary rather like Miss Moneypenny – wholesome and ladylike, with a slight crush on him. She would flirt harmlessly with him, and he would banter back in a way which both let her down gently and bolstered her self-esteem. Instead he got Mrs Gideon, who was brutally efficient, and made him feel a fool.

Mrs Gideon was also suspicious by nature, and seemed to think everything Howard said or did was making a pass at her. For example, he had offered to read her some of his poetry, and she assumed that it was written about her. Just because the verses were dedicated to a lady with lovely creamy skin! Howard admitted that he _had_ rather declaimed the poem at her, perched on the edge of the desk and looking soulfully into her eyes, but that was how poems were supposed to be read. Passionately.

Then there was the night she'd found Howard in her front garden. He acknowledged it probably looked bad, but it had been perfectly innocent. Her house happened to be on his way home from ... somewhere or other, and he'd been tired from walking. There was a little stone bench next to a fish pond, and it had all looked so calm and soothing. He didn't know she'd come out and catch him sitting on the bench, and start shrieking about him crying into her fish pond. He'd been a little depressed at the time, and he was sorry his salty tears had killed her koi carp, or whatever it was. It was all a misunderstanding. He wasn't crying over _her_. Whatever the papers said.

"Please send in the first clients", Howard repeated firmly, but in a way which didn't contradict Mrs Gideon. He'd learned she didn't like being contradicted.

*******************************************

A tall, handsome man pushed open the door of Howard's office in a way which managed to come across as both arrogant and put upon. He was dressed all in black, but with a lot of feathers decorating his outfit, had curly dark hair under his large black hat, and a stiff curly goatee on his chin.

"Are you Moon?", he demanded in an irritated voice, as if he'd been knocking on random office doors for at least an hour.

“I am _Doctor_ Moon”, Howard said reprovingly. “May I know your name?”.

“Saboo”, said the man, “and this is my wife”.

From behind him stepped an almost impossibly slender creature with raven-dark hair swept down to the shoulders, an impishly pointed face with enormous blue eyes, and generous lips turned up into a shy smile.

_Howard was transfixed for a moment, then crossed the room in a single bound to wrap the girl in a close embrace, his lips upon hers, but gently, reverently, as if she were something delicate, fragile …she smelt of hyacinths, and tasted faintly of cherries ..._

Howard shook himself, shocked at the picture his fevered imagination had placed before him.

“And er, your wife's name?”, Howard said in a daze, before turning to Saboo's wife apologetically. “I mean, sorry … please excuse me, I meant to ask your name?”.

“Hi, I'm Vince”, said the lovely creature in a south London accent, with a friendly hand wave.

“That seems very unusual for a woman's name”, commented Howard. “Is it short for something?”.

There was a decided head shake to that, and Saboo said, “Vince isn't a woman, you plum preserve”. He seemed sardonically amused, almost as if he had guessed what had gone through Howard's mind.

Howard felt dismayed by his mistake, and looked more closely. Vince was wearing a colourful patterned blouse … or maybe a loose shirt? … over skin tight leather trousers, with high heeled boots, multiple bracelets and two necklaces, and had make-up smoothed over his skin, around his eyes, and on the lips that Howard had fantasised about kissing. That had helped to confuse him.

“If Vince is a man, then surely he's your husband?”, Howard said to Saboo, trying to grasp at something solid. The whole conversation was causing him to feel as if he was on a ship at sea in a high storm.

“No, look at him, he's clearly a wife”, Saboo said scornfully. “I am the husband in this ridiculous farce of a marriage”.

“Er, please sit down”, Howard said, gesturing at the sofa, and sitting in his own armchair across from them.

He noticed that Saboo sat as far away from Vince as possible, but that Vince mirrored his husband's body language, like a sad little satellite. Both Saboo and Vince were silent, but while Saboo studiously looked out the window, Vince looked uncertainly at Howard, as if asking him to take control of the situation, while not being sure he was capable of it. Howard racked his brains as to how to start the conversation – surely they had been given at least one lecture on that at the Poly?

“Um, Saboo”, he began, “can you tell me why you married Vince?”. He'd remembered now. Start with talking about the good times, so the session would begin on a positive note.

“Poker game”, replied Saboo laconically.

Howard looked horrified. “You mean that you won your wife in a _poker game_?”, he said indignantly.

“No, I lost the poker game”, said Saboo coolly. “Naboo won. He got my best carpet”.

“How could this fellow … this er, this Naboo, did you say? How could he use Vince to bet with?”.

“Naboo's my landlord. I mean, _was_ my landlord”, offered Vince. “I couldn't pay my rent, so he put me up in a poker game. Loser got me”.

“That's barbaric”, said Howard angrily, “and I'm pretty sure it's not legal”.

Vince shrugged helplessly, and Saboo promptly handed Howard a marriage contract drawn up by a lawyer named Tony Harrison. As far as Howard could make out, this abomination of a partnership was legally watertight. He could hardly imagine how to continue. But these were his first clients, and he couldn't give up before he'd helped even one person.

“Saboo, can you tell me what problems you are having in your marriage?”, Howard asked in a suddenly business-like voice. He crossed his legs in the opposite direction, and turned to a fresh page of his notebook, even though he hadn't written anything in it yet.

“He doesn't do anything”, complained Saboo, gesturing with a nod of his curly head towards Vince. “He doesn't cook, he doesn't clean. He doesn't work. He can't drive. He spends all day shopping, doing his hair, watching TV, and doing stupid craft projects which mean everything ends up covered in paint and glitter. He's completely useless”.

“Vince, would you like to say anything at this point?”, Howard said, looking searchingly at Saboo's wife.

“He's right”, Vince said, with a little shrug of his shoulders. “I'm a terrible cook. I'm not good at housework. I've never had a job or a driver's license. I'm a pretty hopeless wife”.

“You know, you don't exist to serve your husband's needs”, Howard said warmly, unable to stop feeling terribly sorry for Vince, who had been trapped in a marriage where he was made to feel inadequate. “You are a person in your own right. Isn't there anything you want out of life for yourself?”.

Vince looked at Howard blankly, as if he was speaking in a foreign language.

“Saboo, why do you stay married to Vince then, if he's such a terrible wife?”, Howard demanded. He could hear that his voice had become hard and angry, and that he wasn't remaining calm or neutral or any of the things he was supposed to be.

“Oh, there _are_ compensations, I suppose”, drawled Saboo, with a sly, contemptuous look at Vince, who sat demurely on the sofa with his hands clasped together. “He does have, shall we say, _certain_ talents that make life with him _almost_ bearable”.

Howard flushed beetroot red. It was impossible not to understand what Saboo meant, and Howard was both embarrassed and infuriated. How dare he speak of intimacy with his wife in such a knowing, sneering way? The man was an absolute cad. Howard felt ready to punch him out, with a sick anger that roiled in his stomach, and made his hands shake slightly.

“Look at him”, jeered Saboo. “Blushing like that. He's probably a virgin”.

Howard looked aghast, and blushed redder.

“There's nothing wrong with being a virgin”, said Vince soothingly. “Women respect that. You know, just kissing and holding hands is fine. I'd be happy with that”. He smiled at Howard encouragingly.

Howard gazed down at his shoes, chewing his moustache.

“I'm sorry”, said Vince, with an understanding expression. “I didn't realise ….”

“Oh, this is priceless”, crowed Saboo. “We're paying for marriage counselling from a bloody virgin! I mean, what the fuck do you even know about marriage?”.

“I do happen to be married”, said Howard, shiftily. “My wife and I have a very strong, committed marriage based on mutual respect and shared interests”.

“What's your wife's name?”, demanded Saboo.

“Um … Kate”, said Howard nervously.

“You're just making it up”, pronounced Saboo with certainty. “Come on Vince, let's get out of here. We won't be seeing this fraud again. I bet he's not even a proper marriage guidance counsellor”.

“But we've paid for ten weekly sessions in advance!”, objected Vince, as Saboo dragged him from the sofa by the elbow. “We haven't even finished _one_ yet!”.

“We'll be getting our money back”, Saboo said.

“No, you won't”, Howard said firmly. “The sign on my secretary's desk clearly says _No Refunds_ ”.

“Well, Moon. You've made a powerful enemy”, said Saboo darkly. “You're meddling with forces you barely understand”.

“I understand that you can leave”, said Howard, standing up to his full height. He wasn't really much taller than Saboo, but he was heavier and stronger-looking, and he tried to look as menacing as possible. “Get out, and try to treat your lovely wife with a little more kindness”.

He hadn't meant to say _your lovely wife_ , just _your wife_ , but Vince beamed at this accidental compliment. Saboo dragged Vince down the stairs, shouting, “I'll get you for this, Moon, you shyster. I'll have you investigated by the High Council of Marriage Counsellors, and _then_ you'll come to the The Crunch”.

“Thank you for your help, Dr Moon”, called Vince. “I think your wife is really lucky to have you”.

Funnily enough, even though his first counselling session had been a catastrophe, and he had actually been threatened, this last comment from Vince gave Howard's spirits a lift. Maybe Kate _was_ lucky to have him?

****************************************

Howard walked up the stairs to his flat, and sat with his head in his hands. What a disaster the day had been, he thought. After a few minutes, he stood up, and listlessly went to the tiny kitchen to make a mug of tea.

He looked out the window, and saw Kate walking down the lane that led to their flat. She was running her fingers through her long brown hair in a distracted way that he recognised from experience. Perhaps her day hadn't been a success either, he said to himself, and got another mug for her. She might like a biscuit as well, Howard said, and thoughtfully put a selection on a floral plate for her.

He heard her footsteps on the stairs – light, in spite of her practical nursing shoes. Kate trod softly on the earth, which was one of the things that had first attracted Howard to her. He heard the front door open and shut, and said, “How was your day, darling?”. He was careful not to shout out to her in the living room, because people heard everything in these flats.

“Ugh!”, came the wail from the living room. (People would hear that, Howard thought to himself, but did not say aloud). “Wretched, horrible … bastards, bastards, bastards!”.

As he had thought, Kate's day hadn't gone well either. He was sure they worked her too hard at the hospital, and didn't appreciate her nearly enough. Her quiet footsteps and soothing hands, her ability to remain calm in a crisis. After all, hadn't Howard himself relied on those very things? Only a few months ago he had stupidly fallen off the balcony, and Kate had been there for him.

She had been the one who found him, who exclaimed in shock over his condition while she examined him, and and held his hand while they waited for the ambulance.

“Everything is going to be alright”, she'd assured him, her warm hazel eyes looking deeply into his little brown ones. “I promise you, you'll be right as rain before you know it”. And then she'd stroked his forehead with her gentle, soothing hand, and just as he lost consciousness, he'd known he'd made the right choice in loving her.

****************************************

Howard heard Kate kick off her shoes and throw her bag on the table. She was going straight for the shower, and although a part of him always thought about surprising her by slipping under the warm water with her, he stayed where he was. She needed her private time, to decompress from the events of the day.

Ten minutes later he heard the squeal in the pipes as the taps were turned off, and then Kate came into the living room with her damp hair in a messy bun, her slim yet sturdy figure wrapped in a pale blue dressing gown. She closed her eyes as she sat in the window seat, holding her hot mug, her lips parted as if in a sigh of relief.

This was nice, Howard thought, taking a sip from his own mug. Just sitting together, drinking tea. They didn't need to talk. Silent communication, giving each other the space to relax and enjoy the peace and quiet. He looked at Kate, her pretty, sensible face with its elegantly etched bones, the softness of her shower-pinked cheeks. After all this time, he still found things to notice about her. Today it was a tiny brown mole just below her left earlobe.

Still with her eyes closed, Kate let her hair down, shaking it over her shoulders. She leaned back and luxuriated, her dressing gown opening enough that Howard could see the the curve of her breasts. Nurturing breasts, Howard thought. The kind a man could rest his weary head on and finally feel safe.

Kate's eyes suddenly sprung open, a strange, wary look in them as she pulled her dressing gown tightly around her and drew the curtains against the world. She looked around nervously before disappearing from his sight.

Howard sighed, and put his binoculars away. Everything had been so pleasant until she shut him out. Sometimes it felt as if Kate didn't love him as much as he loved her. She hadn't eaten her biscuits either, and he moodily ate them from her floral plate. He had chosen the plate specifically to be Kate's plate, the one on which he would lay down offerings of toast and biscuits. Imagining her eating them, saying, “Thank you, Howard darling. You're so sweet”.

He went and washed Kate's floral plate very carefully, dried it, and put it away. He could hear the television on in the flat opposite. Kate was watching the six o'clock news, and he decided to join her. Common interests, that was what couples needed. He stretched out on the sofa and switched on his own television. He sighed discontentedly, and put his head between two cushions, but it wasn't the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard does his best to help an unexpected client, while his own marriage reaches crisis point.

Howard sat at his desk, doodling vaguely on the blotter. It was a week later, and he was beginning to feel quite worried. He hadn't had any other clients – not even a phone enquiry. Every time the phone rang, he rushed into Mrs Gideon's office, but it always turned out to be a wrong number, or someone selling double glazing. And Mrs Gideon would glare at him. As she demanded to know, what was the point of him hiring her as his secretary if he answered the phone himself?

The problem was, Great-Great Aunt Edith's money was close to running out, and the only reason Howard had even been able to keep going this week is because Saboo had paid for ten weeks in advance. If another client didn't come along soon, he wouldn't have enough money to pay Mrs Gideon next week.

There was a light tap on the door, and when he looked up, Vince's head poked around the door.

“Hi, Dr Moon. It's only me”, he said.

“Vince, what are you doing here?”, asked Howard in surprise.

“Come for my appointment, ain't I?”, Vince said, slipping his thin frame into the room. “Saboo paid for ten sessions, and we've got nine left”.

“Mrs Gideon didn't tell me you were here”, Howard frowned.

“She left a note on her desk saying she just popped out”, Vince explained, throwing himself on the sofa with a casual grace, lying sprawled on his back with one arm supporting his head.

He was wearing skin-tight jeans, a Rolling Stones tee-shirt, and a black leather jacket. Even with the high-heeled boots and pretty made-up face, Howard would have had no problems identifying Vince as a boy, if he had worn this outfit the first day they met. He wished it made a difference to how attractive he found Vince.

“Where's your husband?”, Howard asked, dropping into his armchair, and taking up his so far unused pad and pen.

“We split up”, Vince said airily, examining his nails. They were short, chewed, and painted black.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish”, said Howard with a certain grumpy satisfaction.

“You really don't like Saboo, do you?”, grinned Vince.

“The man's a complete arse”, Howard grouched. “I don't know how you put up with being married to him for a week”.

“He's alright”, shrugged Vince. “You have to know how to get on his good side. And we weren't married for a week. It were more like five days”.

“You weren't paying rent to your landlord, so where are you living now?”, Howard asked in some concern.

“My mate Leroy's letting me sleep on his sofa”, Vince said.

“Mm. That doesn't sound like a long-term solution”, nudged Howard.

“Why did you agree to see me?”, Vince asked, looking searchingly at Howard with his bright blue eyes. “You're a marriage guidance counsellor. I ain't married”.

“You _were_ married”, said Howard with a slight blush, “and I think you may have some unresolved issues from your marriage”.

“Like what?”, asked Vince curiously.

Howard fidgeted with his pen. “I think … you weren't treated very well by your husband. I wonder why you let him talk to you that way, because you didn't deserve it”.

“You're sweet”, Vince said with a smile, turning his face to look at Howard. His tee-shirt rode up over his belly, displaying a trail of thick black hair that disappeared under his belt. Howard imagined following the trail with his fingers, and then shook his head, trying to get the enticing image out of his head.

“I'm not sweet, simply trying to help”, said Howard with dignity.

“You're sweet that you want to help me”, persisted Vince with a radiant smile.

“For example, have you thought about your future?”, Howard said. “How you're going to support yourself?”.

Vince looked wide-eyed at Howard. He seemed far too naive and innocent to take care of himself.

“You've tried being supported by a husband”, Howard pointed out with some humour. “You said you were a terrible wife, remember? So you'll have to learn to support yourself”.

“I was thinking of getting a husband with lower standards”, Vince said. “One that wouldn't care if I was terrible”. He gave Howard a cheeky grin.

Howard let out a reluctant chuckle, remembering that Saboo had said that there were compensations to being married to Vince – that he had certain talents. He coughed a few times, clearing his throat elaborately.

“Perhaps you might consider getting a job of some kind?”, he suggested.

“No skills or experience”, Vince said quickly.

“You could learn”, Howard said, with a determined edge in his voice. “You could study, get qualified, and gradually gain the necessary experience through an apprenticeship or employment scheme”.

“Look, Dr Moon”, Vince said. “You've got the wrong idea about me. I'm well thick. I didn't even do my GCSEs”.

“The GCSEs aren't that important”, said Howard. “There are many other paths to education. Surely there's _something_ you're interested in?”.

Vince thought for a moment, before replying, “I like watching _Colobus the Crab_. It's my favourite show of all time”.

“Your ex-husband said you spent all day doing your hair. Could you train in hairdressing?”.

“Yeah!”, said Vince enthusiastically. “I'd be a genius hairdresser, Dr Moon”.

“Well, that's great”, Howard said encouragingly. “They teach hairdressing in a ten-week course at Hoxton Polytechnic. Let's apply now”.

“There's something else”, Vince said slowly. “I always wanted to be an artist. Since I was a kid. But that sounds like something only clever people can do”.

“You _can_ be an artist, Vince”, Howard said. “We'll apply for you to go to the Shoreditch School of the Arts. It's a one year certificate, starting next September. But I think the hairdressing course is still a good idea. Artists need a back-up career until they can get established”.

Howard filled out the forms for Vince, and sent Mrs Gideon to post them.

“Won't all these courses cost money, Dr Moon?”, Vince asked worriedly. “I can't afford them”.

“As you didn't finish school, the government has to pay for your education”, Howard said, zealously grabbing another form. “I'll make sure they understand this is the equivalent of you doing fifth form”.

“Even though I'm already … um, nineteen?”, said Vince in disbelief. “Er, and a half?”.

“Yes, that's right”, said Howard, diligently writing.

“That's genius. Dr Moon, nobody's ever been this nice to me”, Vince said, getting up and hugging Howard.

“Don't touch me”, Howard said, ashamed of how his body had reacted to Vince's embrace. “Er, it's unprofessional. I could be struck off for having inappropriate relationships with a client”.

“Stupid rules”, said Vince, rolling his eyes. “Hey Dr Moon, where's a good place to meet a husband? Where did you meet your wife?”.

“I don't think that's relevant”, Howard said austerely.

“Oh, go on”, coaxed Vince.

“We lived in opposite flats”, Howard said, relenting. “One day I was trying to hang up a lantern on my balcony, and I fell off. Kate, that's my wife, was the one who found me, and took me to hospital. She's a nurse, you see”.

“That's well romantic”, pronounced Vince. “Maybe I can meet a husband where I live by helping him with his terrible hair. Yours is a bit of a mess, actually”.

Vince began running his fingers through Howard's admittedly rather scruffy hair.

“That's enough, Vince”, warned Howard.

“It's really fine”, pronounced Vince. “Like touching brown smoke. You could use a root booster to give it more volume”.

“How would you like it if I started touching _your_ hair?”, Howard said crossly, reaching up and twisting his fingers into Vince's dark locks. It was softer than Howard had expected, and he buried his hand into the silky shag cut without thinking.

“I don't like having my hair touched!”, said Vince in a panic, pulling away. “I spent hours this morning getting my barnet just right, and I don't need your big northern mitts making a mess of it!”.

“Calm down”, Howard said, alarmed at how quickly things had changed.

“I'll fight you like a Cockney bitch”, Vince shouted, putting up his fists like a boxer. “I'm a ragamuffin from the streets, I am”.

“I'll come at you like a northern bullet”, Howard said angrily. “You'll be taken out for a meal by Mr and Mrs Pain. Order you up a violent quiche”. He brandished his hands, kung-fu style.

In a moment, both men were struggling against each other. Howard was using his superior height to force Vince into a wrestling hold, while Vince made ineffectual slaps against Howard's belly. Howard tried to make Vince sit on the sofa and calm down while he held him tightly, but somehow he ended up almost lying on top of Vince, pressing down on his shoulders to hold him in place.

Their groins were notched together, and Howard was horrified to realise he was hard and rubbing against Vince with fervent need. Vince had stopped struggling, and was looking at Howard in sleepy surprise.

“Wow, you're really big and strong, Dr Moon”, he said admiringly.

At that moment, Howard heard the click of the door opening, and the shocked gasp that prefaces someone saying something like, _What is the meaning of this_?

Howard quickly swung himself off the sofa, and addressed Vince.

“So, if you continue doing the exercises as I've demonstrated, I think you'll soon find that the results pay off”, he said glibly. “Ah, hello Mrs Gideon. To what do we owe the pleasure of your unannounced visit?”.

“I came to tell you I'm putting in my notice”, she said crisply. “As of this minute, I no longer work for you, and have sought other employment. Tomorrow I start as Head of Reptiles at The Zooniverse”.

“My old landlord Naboo has a kiosk there”, Vince butted in cheerily. “You should look him up”.

“I shall miss you, Mrs Gideon”, said Howard formally. “I only wish you had given me time to find a new secretary”.

“I do your banking – you don't have enough money for a new secretary”, Mrs Gideon informed him.

“Ha ha ha, that's the wonderful sense of humour I shall miss, Mrs Gideon”, Howard said. “You and your extremely funny jokes”.

“It's not a joke”, Mrs Gideon protested, as Howard firmly steered her out of his office with a hand in the middle of her back.

“Good luck with your new career, Mrs Gideon”, Howard said, as he countersigned all the paperwork necessary to let her go. “I hope you remember me fondly”.

“I doubt I'll remember you at all”, Mrs Gideon replied, picking up her bag and her coat, and walking out of his office and life.

By the time Howard got back to his office, it was empty. Vince had apparently left by the back stairs. He would probably never see Vince again, either, Howard told himself, after the stupid fight they had had. He felt unaccountably lonely and depressed, as if he'd lost a good friend, yet he barely knew Vince, and from what he did know, he and Vince had little in common, and didn't seem suited to each other.

He slowly walked home, remembering to post Vince's application for government funding on his way, and taking care of one or two other tasks at the shops while he was there.

****************************************

Howard stood in the hallway of his flat, reading his mail. There seemed to be an alarming number of bills, and no money to pay them with. There was no getting around it – he would have to look for a job.

The front door was open in the spring warmth, and he could see Kate walk up the path to the flat. She was smiling to herself, carrying a bouquet of flowers tied with pink ribbon.

“Oh, hello Howard”, Kate said as she came in. “Any mail for me?”.

“Just these two”, said Howard, passing over her mail. “Had a nice day, Kate?”.

“Yes, thanks”, Kate said. “Look – someone sent me flowers at work!”. She held out her bouquet.

“Well, young ladies like flowers”, said Howard.

“This one does, anyway”, said Kate with a smile, and opened her front door with a key.

She started looking for something to put the flowers in, and finally settled on a very large pickle jar, her vases all turning out to be far too flimsy and delicate for this riot of blossom. She looked at the card. It was signed, _Your secret admirer_ , and the card had been filled out by the florist, so the handwriting wasn't a clue. Tomorrow she would call in at the florist and find out if they remembered who had ordered the flowers.

Could it be the handsome new doctor that everyone had a crush on? She scolded herself for being so silly, and desperately hoped it wasn't the creepy old cleaner who kept staring at her legs while he pushed a mop around. Maybe it was a friend, just trying to cheer her up, or have a laugh. Whoever it was, and whatever their motive, they had brightened her day.

Howard went to his own flat, pleased to see that Kate was genuinely happy with the flowers. She'd seemed so miserable when she got home from work last week, and he was sure that husbands were meant to buy their wives flowers when they were having a hard time. Happy wife, happy life, and Howard thought life did seem a bit rosier, knowing that Kate was happy.

****************************************

That night, Howard wondered if Kate was in the mood for making love. Not that he would _expect_ it after the flowers, he just wondered. She left the lamp on after going to bed, which seemed like a good sign, and then she gave out a few other unmistakable signs, such as wearing a particular nightgown and putting on a certain piece of music on the stereo. A husband notices these things.

Emboldened, Howard lay down next to Kate, on her right side. This side was far colder and less comfortable than where she was, but Howard thought a man should be a gentleman about these things and endure a little discomfort. Besides, he made sure he was under the blanket.

He could hear the soft noises she made through the music, and he quietly joined her. The only trouble was, images of Vince kept coming into his mind. Here he was, in bed with his wife, making love with her, and he was actually thinking about Vince. His innocent eyes, his sunny smile, the way he'd said, “You're sweet”.

What was _wrong_ with him? And then, that silly fight. Except that he had rather liked seeing Vince get angry, even over something silly. His eyes had become even bluer and deeper, his cheeks had turned red, he could see that Vince was capable of real passion, real feeling. And then, oh God, he had ended up on top of Vince, virtually rutting him on the sofa. And Vince had just let it happen, had even seemed to enjoy it.

That was it. He wasn't going to be able to last, thinking about Vince's firm thighs between his, the little strip of white belly between his tee shirt and his jeans, his red painted lips, open and moist as Howard held him down and rubbed against him. Oh fuck, the little vixen. He was going to come thinking about Vince, right next to his wife, oh God, oh yes, the little titbox … oh fuck he'd gone wrong.

He let out a groan of pleasure, and then the music suddenly shut up off with a click, and Kate opened the curtains wider to look onto the balcony. And then she screamed, and screamed again. The screaming went on and on, until Howard thought it would never stop.

It was hard to think with all the noise, but Howard had a strong feeling that his marriage to Kate might be over. And much deeper down, a cold suspicion slowly grew that she had never been his wife at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you can't picture what Howard did, the flats each have a small balcony which is accessed through the bedroom. Kate's bed is alongside the window which overlooks the balcony, and Howard is lying on her balcony wrapped in a rug. Because he is lying next to her (only outside), in his mind they are in bed together. He waits until he hears Kate pleasuring herself, and then does the same – in his delusion, this means they are making love. Apparently this isn't the first time Howard has done this – only the first time he has been caught.
> 
> I'm not actually sure there are flats in London which have this set-up – I was basing the design on cheap brick flats built in the 1960s in Australia, where it would be possible for a tall, strong young man to jump from one balcony to another. In London, they appear to stagger their balconies for privacy, and they are often sensibly glassed in for warmth. I found flats in the US, Canada, and continental Europe which would fit the story, but not London. This might be something only possible in an alternative Booshy London.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we discover what was in "The Guardian", and witness the genesis of one possible beginning.

A week later Howard was in his office, packing everything he owned into boxes. Lost in thought, he didn't even hear the knock on the door, and a moment later Vince had come in, saying, “Dr Moon? Hey, Dr Moon, what's going on?”.

“Oh, Vince. Hello”, replied Howard dully, barely glancing at him. “My business failed, and I'm packing up my office. I'm sorry”.

“Sorry? I came to thank you”, Vince exclaimed. “I just started at Hoxton Poly, and I love the hairdressing course already. You applied for a student allowance for me, and the Student Welfare office got me into cheap housing. You turned my whole life around, Dr Moon!”.

“That's great”, Howard said with a wan smile. “But I'm not a doctor. I only did a ten week course in Interpersonal Relationship Skills at Hoxton Polytechnic. Your ex-husband was right – I'm a fraud”.

“So what do I call you?”, Vince said, as if that was the important piece of information. He looked at the name on the door and slowly read, “ _Dr Howard Moon_. Your name's Howard”.

“That's right. Just plain Howard Moon”, Howard said with a sigh.

“Howard, maybe you're not a doctor, but you're not a fraud”, Vince said earnestly. “You really helped me. You changed my life!”.

“I'm glad, Vince”, smiled Howard. “Out of all this terrible mess I've made, at least I did one good thing”.

“What does your wife think about your business failing?”, Vince asked, watching Howard carefully over the sofa.

“I'm not married”, Howard said bluntly. “I … I never was. I only imagined my neighbour Kate was married to me”.

“Blimey”, Vince said, genuinely startled to discover Kate was real and not entirely fictional.

“You know I said we met when I fell off my balcony? Well, the truth is, we met when I fell off her balcony. I was seeing how easily I could jump onto her balcony from mine”, Howard confessed. “And sometimes, when I could hear that she wanted to make love, I climbed onto her balcony and made love with her, without her knowing. Except a week ago, she caught me doing it”.

“Bloody hell, mate”, Vince said.

“It might seem strange to you, Vince, but all I can say is that I have had some of the strongest and deepest relationships possible, in my mind, at a distance”.

“You're right there, Howard”, Vince agreed. “It does seem strange. But never mind, nobody else knows about it, and I won't tell anybody”.

“It's in _The Guardian_ ”, Howard said bitterly, and threw the newspaper over to Vince, who sat on the sofa to read the headline and the first few lines.

THE STALKER NEXT DOOR by Miriam McNulty

_Kate was a young nurse who'd devoted her life to helping the sick and injured. Only recently moved to London, she was excited to be living alone in her own flat for the first time. Kate barely noticed her neighbour in the flat next door, a quiet man who was perhaps a little odd, but polite and kept to himself. Yet unbeknownst to Kate, her neighbour had developed a frightening obsession with her …_

Vince was a slow reader, and he only gave a glance at the rest of the article, reading a few phrases here and there. _The man had a delusion that he and Kate were in a relationship … mistook her friendly demeanour for the return of his twisted affections … alleged to have used binoculars … found masturbating on her balcony … Kate was in bed mere feet away … police were of little help ... “I'm scared to be alone now”, Kate says. “My sister's come up from Leicester to stay with me, otherwise I wouldn't be able to cope at all_ ”.

“You left your flat, then?”, Vince asked as he tossed the newspaper in the bin.

“Yeah, had to”, Howard to. “I'm sleeping on the sofa at my mate Lester's”.

“How's that working out?”, Vince asked.

“Terrible”, said Howard, coming to sit next to Vince on the sofa. “Lester can't see very well, and he's a bit absent-minded, and half the time he forgets I'm there and sits on top of me”.

Vince giggled uncontrollably.

“It's not funny”, Howard snapped.

“It is really”, Vince said. “Can't you make him get off you?”.

“No, he's pretty stubborn”, Howard said. “He says once he sits down, he's not moving”.

“So where are you going now, Howard?”, Vince asked, leaning on the back of the sofa.

“Same place as everyone else, it seems”, Howard said glumly. “I applied for a job as a trainee zookeeper at The Zooniverse, and I start next week as assistant to the Head Zookeeper, Tommy Nookah. Seems like a nice bloke”.

“Oh wow, you're working at the zoo?”, Vince said excitedly. “I'd _love_ to be a zookeeper. I get on really well with animals”.

“Well, maybe once I'm established, I could put in a good word”, Howard said. “But you still have a year of art school”.

“Can I come visit you at the zoo?”, Vince asked wistfully.

“Of course you can, little man”, Howard said. “I'd like that. I'd enjoy showing you around. Perhaps you could pop in during my lunch break”.

“Thanks, Howard”, said Vince, his eyes shining. He looked over at Howard, and wriggled himself a bit closer to him. “When you leave here, do you take your sofa with you?”, Vince asked.

“No. It's part of the furniture that goes with the office”, Howard said.

“Pity. It's really comfortable”, Vince said, with a knowing little smile, as if recalling them lying on it together.

“Yes. It's very roomy”, agreed Howard with a shifty glance, as if thinking of the same thing.

“You know, it's funny, but when we met, we were both married, and now, two weeks later, we're both single”, said Vince.

“Yes, it's certainly an odd coincidence”, said Howard with a forced laugh. He took a quick look at Vince, who was wearing a pink tee shirt with faded jeans, and a lot of blue eye shadow.

“What would you want in a wife”, Vince asked, “you know, if you _were_ going to get married?”.

“I'd like someone I could take care of a bit”, Howard said. “That was the trouble with Kate. It turned out that she was happy being on her own, and she didn't need me at all. How about you?”.

“I'd like a husband who was big and strong, and caring, and helpful”, Vince said, his blue eyes fixed on Howard. “I'd like someone who could look after me, if that doesn't sound stupid”.

“Not at all”, Howard assured him.

“Do you think you will marry again, Howard?”, Vince asked softly.

“Vince, I've never even held hands or kissed anyone”, Howard said tiredly. “I don't think I'm ready for marriage”.

Vince reached over and twined his fingers around Howard's. “Holding hands isn't so difficult”, he said. “Would you like more?”.

Howard merely gaped at him in disbelief, so Vince leaned in and kissed him softly on the mouth, his tongue teasing a little before settling in for a snog that seemed likely to make Howard's brain explode.

When Vince pulled away with a shy little smile, all Howard could say was “Thank you”. But he held Vince in his arms, and allowed him to snuggle into Howard's broad shoulder.

It was almost unbelievable to Howard that Vince would offer him anything else, but as they cuddled on the sofa, Howard bashfully pressing his lips into Vince's neck from time to time, Vince said, “Howard, do you think we could ever get married? I know I'm a terrible wife, but I'd try harder this time”.

“Vince, I've learned a lot about marriage while working as a marriage guidance counsellor”, said Howard solemnly. “I know now it's a big commitment, and that you have to work hard at it. It's not enough just to make your wife tea and biscuits, or buy them flowers if they're in a bad mood”.

“I'd love someone to make me tea and biscuits”, Vince said longingly.

“Yes, little man”, Howard said, tenderly stroking a finger through his shag cut. “But you can't jump into marriage. You need to be sure they really want you and didn't lose you in a poker game. You need to be sure you haven't mistaken politeness for love, and that you haven't fallen for someone just because they've given you a bit of attention. Do you understand?”.

“I think so”, said Vince uncertainly. “But Howard – what are we going to do, then?”.

“How about we start out as friends?”, Howard suggested. “Take it slow, and see what happens?”.

“I'd like that”, said Vince, putting his arms around Howard for a hug. “And maybe when you've got a flat of your own, you could ask me round for tea and biscuits?”.

“The minute I've unpacked”, Howard promised. “And maybe you could stay for dinner, and we could watch a movie together?”.

“Yeah, great”, smiled Vince, squeezing Howard closer.

“Here's to being great friends forever”, said Howard, and he held out his hand for Vince to shake.

They shook hands, which turned into holding hands, Howard's big hand gently stroking Vince's adorably shorter, stubbier fingers.

“You know, now we're friends, we should really get to know each other a bit better”, Howard said, remembering his lectures on Interpersonal Relationship Skills. “What's your favourite food? Mine's curry and rice”.

“Raspberry Bootlaces”, said Vince, after a moment's thought. “Either those, or Bovril Hula Hoops”.

“Those aren't foods”, Howard argued. “I mean proper food, like soup or pancakes”.

“I've never had either. What are they like?”, Vince asked curiously.

“You've never eaten _soup_? Well, I will have to make you some”, vowed Howard. “A tasty, tasty soup, like spicy carrot and coriander”.

“You say that as if it's a line of poetry, or a song”, Vince remarked. “Which reminds me – favourite music?”.

“I'm a jazz fan, little man”, said Howard proudly. “Are you aware of jazz? Of the music known as jazz?”.

“Yuk”, shivered Vince. “I'm into electro music. You know, The Human League, Gary Numan?”.

“That nonsense makes me feel sick”, Howard said crossly, pulling his hand away from Vince.

“Yeah? Well, I'm allergic to jazz”, Vince sulked, turning his back on Howard.

They'd only been friends for five minutes, and they were already in the middle of a fight.

“Favourite TV show?”, Howard said coldly, although he already knew the answer.

“ _Colobus the Crab_. It's a soap opera, on every weekday at seven. It's genius”, Vince snapped back over his shoulder. “I bet you watch something really boring”.

“ _Danish Cinema Kaleidoscope_ ”, said Howard. “It's a Channel Four documentary series on Danish arthouse films and their directors. Tuesday nights at eleven-thirty”.

“Like I thought. Boring”, sneered Vince. “Favourite alcoholic drink?”.

“I'm not much of a drinker”, Howard said. “But if I pop down the pub, I'll have a pint”.

“I hate the smell of beer, and I hate the smell of pubs”, Vince said mutinously. “I drink Flirtinis, and I like going to clubs and getting stupid drunk while I dance and get my photo in magazines”.

“That sounds terribly vain”, said Howard, honestly and thoughtlessly.

“Oh yeah? I'm vain, am I, just because I like to look good?”, said Vince angrily, turning around again to confront Howard. “At least I don't slob around in clothes I stole from an old tramp”.

“You didn't mind my clothes when you were snogging me”, Howard pointed out frostily.

“I only snogged you because I thought it was pathetic, a man of your age who's never even kissed”, Vince said, two little bright red spots appearing on his cheeks, as his eyes became darker and deeper in colour.

Despite himself, Howard was charmed by how beautiful Vince looked when he was in a a temper.

“A man of my age? How old do you think I am?”, Howard asked, his mouth twitching.

“Dunno. Forty or something?”, Vince suggested idly.

“You little titbox, I'm hardly any older than you are!”, Howard said in mock outrage.

“Oh. You look _much_ older”, Vince said, in a mollifying tone. “Old and wise”.

“What am I, a wizard?”, Howard said, trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, a wise old wizard”, Vince agreed happily. “With straggly long hair, and a great big, long … staff”. And then he giggled.

“I'm not sure being friends is working out”, Howard said, putting his arm around Vince. “We've done nothing but argue since we became friends”.

“That's because we did too much talking”, Vince said, cuddling up to Howard. “We should have stuck to snogging”.

“We can't just snog each other all the time – we hardly know each other”, Howard said, rather scandalised. “We have to start out as friends and forge a strong bond based on respect and common interests, then gradually become attracted to each other, then go on a few dates, and then later perhaps ...”.

“But I'm attracted to you _now_ ”, Vince whined. “I don't want to wait years and years before we even go on one poxy date. And I know you're attracted to me – you got a stiffy when we were wrestling on the sofa”.

“That's very crude”, Howard said primly.

“Oh, stop acting like such a … a virgin”, said Vince in frustration. “Any other bloke would have bummed me on the sofa by now”.

“I won't do that, Vince”, Howard said seriously. “You're worth more than that. You deserve to be wooed and won, and wined and dined, and ….and … taken on holiday to a little cottage in the country”.

“You really mean that?”, said Vince, almost troubled by this new image of himself. “You really think I'm worth all that?”.

“Yes”, said Howard, with utter certainty, gazing right into Vince's eyes.

Only one word, but it touched Vince's sensitive, childish, tough, foxy little heart, so that he knelt on the sofa and kissed Howard's cheek before leaning on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Howard”, he mumbled. “I've been a bit of a brat, haven't I?”.

“A bit”, said Howard, scooping Vince onto his lap, and dabbing his lips against his forehead. “But to tell you the truth, I rather love you when you're being a brat”.

There was a moment of silence, and then Vince said almost accusingly, “You said you loved me”.

“It just slipped out”, Howard said contritely, covering his mouth. “I never meant to say it like that, as if it was nothing. I meant to tell you while we were making love, or while I was carrying you through a field of daisies in a rainstorm, or ...”.

“I love you too”, Vince said, cutting off Howard's flow of words by kissing him hard on the lips.

The kiss went on and on, until they were both lying on the sofa, facing each other, and snogging hungrily. Howard had never kissed anyone until today, but he was a fast learner and making up for lost time, and Vince's clever artistic hands were everywhere. Howard was respectfully keeping his hands above Vince's waist, but tugged urgently at his little pink tee-shirt to stroke the line of hair on Vince's soft, flat belly.

“So how about that bumming now?”, Vince teased, starting to unbutton Howard's olive green Hawaiian shirt.

“Cheeky little tart”, Howard moaned, letting Vince unbutton and caress him, and not even stopping him from unbuttoning Howard's brown corduroy trousers. Vince was driving him insane with desire, even though all he was doing was kissing his shoulder while touching Howard through his increasingly moist pants.

“Here, you can't do that on the sofa, gents!”, said an outraged voice. “That sofa's part of the furniture, innit? That's our property”.

“Oh, er. My apologies, Mr Westlake”, said Howard, hastily sitting up and buttoning his clothes again. “I was just demonstrating a few techniques to a client. Vince, this is Mr Westlake, the estate agent”. Vince reluctantly straightened his clothing and sat up as well, giving the agent a baleful look.

“Thought you was a marriage guidance counsellor, not a sex therapist”, muttered Mr Westlake. “Anyway, I've come for the key, Dr Moon, if you're ready to remove all your personal effects. We'll send you a bill for the final cleaning”. Here he gave the sofa a hard glare, as if he suspected that would need special attention.

****************************************

Half an hour later, Howard stood on the pavement outside his erstwhile office with a box of possessions, and Vince next to him. He had waited for Vince to make his excuses and scarper, but he had doggedly hung about, helping Howard pack, and then lounging about on the office desk while Howard signed various bits of paper ending his tenancy as a marriage guidance counsellor.

After declaring their mutual love and snogging on the sofa while undressing each other, it seemed to Howard that he and Vince had got to a point where they could no longer claim to be merely friends. But what their relationship was remained an enigma, and the unravelling of it something that gnawed gently on the fringes of his mind. There was nothing in his ten-week course on Interpersonal Relationship Skills that would help him understand it.

He looked questioningly at Vince, as if hoping he would provide a clue. Vince didn't appear to be having any similar doubts, or thinking about it (or anything else) at all.

“So, you wanna come round mine?”, he said to Howard, flicking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “You can stay at my flat if you want, and you don't have to sleep on the sofa. I gotta double bed”.

****************************************

ONE YEAR LATER

“I'm home!”, Howard called, as he closed the door of the flat. He was wearing a green uniform, and a leather satchel hung over his shoulder.

“Howard!”, a voice squeaked. Feet wearing odd socks ran down the hallway, and two loving arms were wrapped around him. “Did you have a good day at work?”.

“Not really, little man”, sighed Howard, returning the hug. “It's been so hard since poor Tommy disappeared and they made me Head Zookeeper. I really need someone to help out, Vince”.

“Well, I've nearly finished art school”, Vince said. “The art show is next week, and we graduate the following day”.

“Perhaps you could apply to be my apprentice?”, suggested Howard, as they walked to the kitchen, so close together that at first glance it looked as if they were holding hands.

“Bog off, your apprentice?”, retorted Vince. “With my talent with animals, in no time at all you'll be _my_ apprentice”.

“Assistant, then”, amended Howard. “Feel like a cuppa?”. He switched on the kettle and began assembling mugs.

“Love one”, said Vince instantly. “Can we have biscuits as well?”.

“Jammie Dodgers or Chocolate Hobnobs?”, enquired Howard, looking in the pantry cupboard.

“Both”, said Vince. “And some Custard Creams”.

A few minutes later, Howard carried two mugs of tea and two plates of biscuits into the lounge, putting the tray down in front of the sofa. The walls were covered in Vince's art and Zooniverse posters, adorned with slogans such as _The Zooniverse – Where All Your Dreams Come True-niverse_. In their record collection, jazz and electro music leaned comfortably side by side, and there was a cheerful clutter of Vince's making that Howard struggled to keep tidy.

“Ta very muchly”, said Vince, giving Howard a warm smile. “I really miss not having you here all day”.

“I miss you, too”, Howard said, putting his arm around Vince, and enjoying the familiar feeling of having Vince nestle against his chest. “I got you a little something actually”. He reached into his satchel, which he'd stowed beside the sofa.

“What is it?”, Vince asked eagerly.

“A stuffed toy llama from the Zooniverse gift shop”, said Howard, handing it over, “and a bag of Raspberry Bootlaces”.

“You remembered”, Vince said, immediately stuffing a sweet into his mouth and stickily kissing Howard. “And a llama! I love him. I'm gonna call him Keith, and put him with Mick the monkey, Jahooli the leopard, and Alice the bat”.

He started to get up to put Keith with all the other stuffed toys Howard had bought him at the zoo gift shop, but Howard held him back for more sticky kisses, until they were lying on the sofa, tangled together.

Howard asked worriedly, “Vince, what are we to each other?”. Because even after a year of living together, Howard had never managed to crack the enigma code of their relationship.

“You're my best friend”, answered Vince at once, squeezing himself even tighter against Howard.

“You're the only real friend I've ever had”, Howard murmured, nuzzling Vince.

Their kisses became more tender, until they both said the same three words at the time.

****************************************

After they made love, Howard showed Vince the brochure of the cottage in Cheshire he had booked for their summer holidays. It was next to a field full of daisies, and Howard was very hopeful there might be a summer rainstorm while they were there. He was going to borrow a van from someone so they could drive there. And then they watched _Colobus the Crab_ together, as they did every weekday evening, because it was a genius show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The article in "The Guardian" is based on a real article on the same subject. 
> 
> Mr Westlake is named after musician David Westlake, who played with Sneaker Pimps and for a Boosh stage show. He played a nameless real estate developer in Series 1, and I couldn't think of anything else.
> 
> The cottage in Cheshire that Howard books is presumably the same one they are headed to in "Autoboosh".


End file.
